Falcons Fly
by stella-pegasi
Summary: John Sheppard is graduating from high school, and his future is bright. The question, however, is which future will he have; the one he wants, or the one his father wants for him.


**Title:** **Falcon's Fly**

**Author**: _stella_pegasi_

**Rating: **K

**Genres: **Angst

**Word Count: **6363

**Spoilers: **None – Story set during Sheppard's transition from high school to college.

**Warnings:** Emotional whump.

**Characters:** John Sheppard

**Summary:** John Sheppard is graduating from high school, and his future is bright. The question, however, is which future will he have; the one he wants, or the one his father wants for him.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own them; I would have treated them better.

**Author's Notes:** I first wrote a story called _Reflections in Water_ where I touched on his mother's death when he was small, through his last conversation with his father. Then, I answered two challenges on Live Journal and wrote, _Wild Blue Yonder,_ and _Gone Without Goodbye _about his childhood and his marriage to Nancy.I suppose that once you start creating these life stories, it doesn't feel complete unless you finish it. This story about John has rattled around in my brain for a couple of months, so I needed to get it out of there. So, I think this will be the last of my "Young John Chronicles" for lack of any other label to describe them. I hesitated to even write these because I know we all have our own thoughts as to what Sheppard's back story is based on the few details given us the Stargate episode writers. Anyway, I will shut now and let you read. Remember, this is just my take, and I always thought this was what young John Sheppard would do. Hopefully, you will enjoy.

**Falcon's Fly**

_By stella_pegasi_

The envelope slipped through the long, slender fingers of his trembling left hand, falling onto the dark blue rug next to his bed. His right hand trembled as well, but he gripped the letter he was holding tightly; this piece of paper was far too important to drop. He had read the letter numerous times during the last fifteen minutes, already able to recite the written words from memory. _'Dear Mr. Sheppard; The United States Air Force Academy is pleased to inform you that you have been appointed as a cadet in the Graduating Class of 1989._

John Sheppard sat on the edge of his bed for nearly an hour, reading and re-reading the letter. Eventually, he managed to roust himself up, and change from his school uniform. It was Friday, and he was going to spend the weekend with his best friend, Stevie. They were going to Stevie's aunt and uncle's house in Georgetown, take in a baseball game, and visit the museums to celebrate their upcoming graduation from Briar Forrest School.

He changed into jeans and his favorite t-shirt with the Air Force Thunderbirds decal, threw some clothes into a duffle bag, and headed downstairs to the foyer. Dropping his bag next to the front door, John went into the kitchen looking for a snack.

His head was deep in the refrigerator when he heard the island lilt of Miss Gilly, the Sheppard's Jamaican cook and, more importantly to John, his late mother's best friend. She had raised John and Dave, and was more than the cook she called herself. She ran the household, since his father was rarely home.

"John Sheppard, make up your mind, or close that refrigerator door. I swear, for someone who eats as much as you do, you take forever to decide what you want."

John stood up, looking over the refrigerator door at Miss Gilly, lop-sided grin on his face, "I was looking for a piece of that cherry pie you made a couple of days ago. Is it gone?"

"Yes, Dexter ate it for lunch, before he took your father's car to the dealer for some 5000 mile something or other." She watched John's grin turn into a frown. "Now, don't go makin' that face, Mon; look on the counter on the other side of the fridge."

John did and saw a plate full of oatmeal raisin cookies, his favorite; his grin returned. "You made my favorite cookies, thanks." He grabbed two still warm cookies, and sat down on a stool next to the large center island in the kitchen. Immediately, one cookie disappeared as he shoved the entire morsel in his mouth.

"You're gonna choke on that cookie; you know better than to take such a big bite." She opened the fridge, pulled out the milk, and poured a tall glass, handing it to John. "Here, at least, take a drink of milk before you go cramming another cookie in that mouth."

He laughed, "Yes, ma'am." He took a drink of milk, and then looked at Miss Gilly as she was packing the oatmeal cookies in a plastic container. He wanted to tell her about the letter, but he wondered if he should. She'd keep his confidence, he knew that, but he was unsure if he should put her in the position of keeping his secret. If his father found out…well, he knew that Patrick Sheppard would be extremely angry with her if he discovered she knew without informing him. Especially since, Patrick Sheppard had no idea that John had applied to the Air Force Academy. He planned on telling Stevie, but he needed to tell Miss Gilly. He told her everything. He flashed a faint smile when he remembered that he had kept a few secrets, but he suspected she already knew about the birds and the bees.

"Miss Gilly, I want to tell you something, but you can't tell my father."

She turned around and saw John's green eyes, so expressive like his mother's, full of excitement. She also noticed that he was chewing on his lower lip, which meant he was pensive about something.

"Now, Johnny, you know our agreement. If you tell me something that I feel your father should know, I will have to inform him."

He sighed; taking another drink of milk before he replied. "Yeah, I know, but…uh…he'll find out about this soon enough. If I'm lucky, he'll find out after I leave."

"Well, that statement certainly concerns me. Child, I swear, there are times when I absolutely believe you enjoy upsetting him." Gilly walked over to the barstool next to John, sighing as she sat down. "What in the world have you done that will anger your father so much?"

He blurted it out in a single breath. "Miss Gilly, I received an appointment to the Air Force Academy, and I am going to go."

Gilly took a deep breath, exhaling deeply before she spoke, "Your father has no idea you applied, does he?"

John picked up the second cookie, shaking his head no, before he took a bite.

Gilly pondered the situation, and her words, before she spoke again, "He's gonna be mighty angry. You are supposed to go to Harvard or MIT. Your father will be unhappy if you insist on the Air Force Academy, quite unhappy."

"Yeah, I pretty much figure he's going to be totally pissed at me." John turned to her; she could see the apprehension lurking in his green eyes. "Miss Gilly, you know this is all I ever wanted. The Air Force Academy accepted me, and I want to go. I am going to go; regardless of what my father says or wants." John's voice was hoarse with emotion, and she could tell he was becoming agitated.

Gilly rose and put her arms around him, hugging him tightly. Her hug was the only one that he accepted; he shied away from intimate contact with almost everyone. Her heart broke for John; he was alone, dealing with a father who lacked the ability to understand him, and what he wanted from life. More than once, she had cursed the heavens for taking Gisella Sheppard away from her younger son; he needed her.

She released him, and slowly sank back down on her stool. Gilly could feel his fear, but she also felt his strength and determination. "Your father will attempt to stop you with whatever means he can. Are you certain you're prepared for that kind of confrontation with him?"

A slight, almost wicked, grin crossed his face as he considered his father's reaction. Deep inside, there was a part of him that actually relished the thought of pushing back against his father's wishes.

"Gilly, I know it's going to be difficult, but I'm ready. I've been ready, since I mailed the application months ago."

"I will do what I can to help you, but your father rarely includes me among his advisors. How did you accomplish this, John? I thought getting into one of the military academies was difficult. I mean, I know you have the smarts, but how did you do it without your dad's help?"

"I went to Uncle Ray. The application required sponsorship by an elected representative, so I asked if he would sponsor me. He and Aunt Julie loved my mom. He knew that helping me would probably end his friendship with my father, but he helped me anyway. Uncle Ray was aware that joining the Air Force was what my mom would want for me, because I wanted it."

Gilly thought about Ray and Julie Stanford; Julie was Patrick's half sister, a fact he seldom mentioned to anyone. He remained embarrassed by his late father's behavior, and the younger wife he married, after his parent's divorced. The Stanford's were one of the young couples that used to brighten the house when Giselle was alive. Gisella was sunlight itself, and she surrounded her family and friends with laughter and joy.

Glancing at John, Gilly remembered John was happy and spirited like that before his mother's death. Julie once confided that after Gisella died, she and Ray contemplated how they could convince Patrick to allow John to live with them. They recognized that Patrick Sheppard could barely look at his son because of his resemblance to his mother. They felt that was no way for him to grow up. In the end, they abandoned the idea; Patrick Sheppard was too powerful to fight. Julie and Ray remained involved in John's life, at least, as much as his father would allow.

"Ray is right about one thing. Your father will threaten to retaliate for Ray helping you. Remember John, your uncle did this because he wanted to help you; the congressman side of him can handle Patrick. My only concern is whether you're absolutely certain you want to fight your father over this. This is going to be a very difficult path for you, John."

When John turned to answer her, Gilly felt a cold shudder cascade over her body. A voodoo chill was how her mother would describe the sensation. The young man staring intently at her now displayed little resemblance to the smiling teenager, looking for a piece of cherry pie earlier. A menacing look marred his handsome face; his olive green eyes, framed by thick, blackish-brown hair falling across his forehead, were ominous and piercing. When he spoke, the tenor of his voice was quiet, yet deep and forceful. "I do know, Gilly, and I'm ready. My father will attempt everything within his power to stand in my way. However, there is one important fact he has overlooked, I'm eighteen now. While he may think he can prevent me from doing what I want; I will win this fight."

The intercom buzzed, startling Gilly; she got up to push the talk button. Stevie's happy-go-lucky voice resonated through the speaker, "Hey, Miss Gilly; is the fly boy ready?" She laughed, telling him the fly boy was definitely ready, and buzzed Stevie through the gate. She picked up the container of cookies, handing them to John. He leaned down, kissed her on the cheek, and walked out of the kitchen without looking back.

Miss Gilly thought back to the arguments she had witnessed between John and his father through the years. The two yelling at each other while John's older brother Dave watched from the sidelines. Dave had attempted to stay neutral, at least, until his father pulled him into the fray. Dave then usually sided with Patrick against John, but Gilly had always suspected that Dave really didn't feel that way. Although John's success rate in winning arguments with his father was fairly low, she would bet that John Sheppard would win this one.

* * *

It was around 7:00 p.m. Sunday night when Stevie dropped him off. John approached the front door in a good mood, which dissipated as he reached for the door knob. Anxiety flooded across him, and thoughts of his father began racing through his mind. What would his father do when he found out John was blowing off Harvard and MIT for the Air Force Academy? The ink on the acceptance letters from both schools was barely dry when his father spread the word of his admittance among his business associates, and the powerful people he befriended. He was proud his younger son was following in the footsteps of his oldest son. Ivy League smart was a badge of honor among those people. To John, that attitude was pretentious and arrogant, and expected from his father's friends.

John stood on the front porch for a moment, then took a deep breath, and opened the door, walking into the house. He was about six steps up the large, curved staircase when he heard his father's gruff voice.

"John, get in my office."

John turned to find his father standing at the foot of the stairs; his anger evident by the expression on his face. John slung his duffle bag over his shoulder, and leaned against the banister, as if he didn't have a care in the world. Relaxing in the face of authority angered his father, and he relished showing him just a bit of disrespect. John thought people should earn respect, not think it was theirs because they had money and power. John offered his father a simple response.

"What?"

His face turning crimson, Patrick Sheppard repeated his demand. "I said for you to get in my office, right now." Patrick walked down the foyer, waiting by the office door for his youngest son.

John descended the stairs, dropped his duffle bag next to the living room door, and followed.

John preceded his father into the office, and flopped down in one of the plush, upholstered guest chairs. He stretched his long legs out, the tips of his sneakers resting against the mahogany desk. He watched his father as he closed the door, walked around the big desk, and sat in his imposing leather chair. Patrick Sheppard was tall, broad at the shoulders, with light-brown hair now sprinkled with gray, and piercing blue eyes. He was, also, quite formidable. Over the years, John had witnessed his father reduce domestic employees, and employees of the utility and energy companies he owned, to small piles of quivering dust.

"Exactly when were you planning on telling me about your 'little' news?" His father was leaning on his elbows, his body angled over the desk toward John. One of Patrick's intimidating poses; John had seen it before.

"What news?" John cocked his head to one side to convey confusion, although he knew exactly what his father was asking about. Somehow, Patrick Sheppard had learned about his Academy appointment.

Patrick, his face reverting to the deep shade of crimson, common when talking to his younger son, slammed his hand down on his desk. "Damn it, John, you continually amaze me. Did you honestly think you get away with this?" Pausing, the older Sheppard leaned back in his chair, fighting to maintain control.

"You really are something; I do the best I can for you, and you flaunt it in my face. You want to know how I found out about your little plan. I found out when my friend, Admiral Parks, called me from the Pentagon yesterday morning. He likes to know whose kids are appointed to all the academies. He thinks it makes him look impressive when he calls and congratulates the prominent people on this list. He had just received notice of the incoming cadet classes for all the military academies, and he found your name, and mine, on the list. Parks called to tell me how proud he was about your appointment. He even told me if he had known you were interested in flying, he would have tried to convince you to join the Navy." He paused again, for a moment, to compose himself, rubbing his hand across his lower face.

"Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was that I was completely in the dark about this foolishness? Nothing; I had to cover myself with the Admiral. My company has a lucrative government military contract, John, and the Admiral oversees that contract. That's how I make a living, that's how I provide for you and Dave, and you could have put that in jeopardy by pulling a foolish stunt like this. Making me look like an idiot."

John didn't say anything; he was attempting to keep a neutral, but bored, expression on his face.

"Don't think you are going to attend the Air Force Academy, John. Oh no, not going to happen. I know Ray Stanford sponsored you; he won't do anything stupid like that again. I warned him that if he ever went behind my back, and involved himself in anything regarding my sons, his campaign dollars would dry up. Damn fool, I gave him a lot of money for his campaign, and convinced others to donate to him. This is how he repays me. I never could stand that bleeding heart, but your mother adored him and that meddling sister of mine, always coming around to check on you."

John muttered low enough, he thought, to be out of his father's earshot. "At least, Aunt Julie cared about me." Patrick did hear him, and John's words fueled his anger.

John had slouched down in the armchair, and his lack of decorum infuriated his father. Patrick rose quickly, marching around the desk. Grabbing John by the arm, he yanked him into an upright position in the chair.

Leaning into John's face, he growled, "You pay attention to me when I am talking to you. I am so tired of your insolence, your disrespect. Look at you. That damn hair sticking up in every direction, those jeans, worn and frayed, and how much did I pay for those shoes? A couple of hundred dollars, at least, and you don't even bother to lace them all the way. You are a disgrace; I can't imagine why any university would want you, much less why the Air Force Academy would."

Patrick let go of John's arm, and was returning to his chair, when John jumped up and grabbed his father's arm. His father gave him a stern, warning look, and John released his arm. However, he stood his ground, and addressed his father.

"You have known since I was seven years old that I wanted to become an Air Force pilot. I remember the day mom took me to the see the Thunderbirds, and you weren't there, as usual. I told you when we got home that I wanted to be a pilot. What was that you said to me? Oh yeah, you said, 'Well, John, you'll grow out of that, and do something useful.' I remember what you said like it happened yesterday. You didn't listen to me when I was seven; you're not listening to me now. I am going to attend the Academy, and I am going to become a pilot."

John could tell from his father's expression, he was shocked that his youngest son was standing up to him. They had argued many times, but John had difficulty controlling his anger, always giving his father the upper hand. This time was different, and John continued, "I know what's really making you angry. You're livid because I accomplished this without the help of the great and powerful Patrick Sheppard. You are surprised that your useless, disrespectful son could do anything without you." He waited for his father's explosion; knowing it would come.

"You listen to me, you insolent little bastard. You are living under my roof, and while you live here, you will do exactly what I tell you to do. It's my money that sent you to the best private school in Maryland, my money that keeps you in food and the clothes you wear, tattered or not. As long as my money pays for you, you will do as I say. You have exams next week; keep those grades high, or there will be hell to pay. Go upstairs and study; we'll discuss whether you go to Harvard or MIT in two weeks, after graduation."

John was defiant; his voice calm as he replied. "I plan on studying hard; I want to keep my grades up. However, any discussion about where I go to college in two days, or two weeks, or two months is a useless endeavor. I'm eighteen years old, and I can do what I want. Mom would have known that attending the Academy would make happy. If she was here, she'd support me."

John rarely mentioned his mother in his father's presence. He avoided using her memory in any way, but this was a situation where he felt he had to remind his father, she would have taken his side. He watched as his father's face paled; his voice barely above a whisper as he replied to his son.

"It's cruel to use your mother to try and convince me. Your mother wanted the best for both of her sons, as do I. You are wrong about her; she would have preferred you have the opportunities an education from Harvard or MIT will give you. You are too smart to play soldier. You are destined to run one of the companies, John, maybe all of them. You're smarter than Dave, but he's hungrier to succeed. You just want to get by with whatever's easier."

"You're wrong about that. She would have supported me, I know it and so do you. She always told me that I could be anything I wanted to be." He paused, taking a deep breath before he continued, "Right or wrong, the choice is mine to make; you don't get to choose."

John walked out his father's office, picked up his duffle bag, and went to his room.

* * *

John Sheppard graduated with honors from Briar Forrest School on a beautiful Saturday morning in mid-May. His father, Dave, Miss Gilly, and her daughter Maddie, as well as, many of his father's relatives attended the ceremony. In addition, several of his father's business associates attended his graduation. John was well aware those guests came for his father's benefit.

He had received a real surprise about thirty minutes before they were to leave for the ceremony. His mother's sister, Adelise, along with her sons, Tristen and Beau, arrived at the house. His mother's youngest cousin, Edwin, his wife Denise, and their four-year old daughter, Gisella was with them. Adelise had been his rock when his mother died, staying with him throughout the ordeal. She was the only member of his mother's family, he had seen since she died.

During the ceremony, John was required to sit on stage, since he held one of the ten highest, grade point averages in his class. He watched his father as he replayed the conversation that they had shortly before leaving for the school. He had confronted him, asking if he knew Adelise and the others were coming.

"John, please not now, we need to leave. I'm going to call Dexter to bring the car around." His father was clearly uninterested in discussing his mother's family.

"No, tell me the truth, did you know they were coming?"

Patrick stopped, closed his eyes for a second, then answered, "I knew they were considering coming, but I wasn't sure they would make it. I didn't want to get your hopes up."

John shook his head, "In other words, you knew." He was walking away when his father, called to him.

"John, I don't want to hear you talking with anyone about you going to the Air Force Academy. Do you hear me?"

John continued to walk away. "I mean it. We'll talk about this later; just tell people you don't yet know what school you're going to attend."

After the ceremony, Patrick Sheppard took both families to lunch, and they then returned to the house. Although he had asked Gisella's family to stay with them, Adelise said they had reservations outside of Washington. They planned on sightseeing for a few days before they returned to Louisiana. John was surprised when his father agreed to let him spend those days with his mother's relatives; his relatives. They had asked Dave to join them, as well, but he declined, saying he needed to study. He was currently working on his MBA at Harvard.

The next four days were a blur to John Sheppard; for the first time since he was a small child, he felt free to be himself. His mother's family was open and fun, sharing stories about his mother that he had never heard, making him feel that they were happy he was with them. All too soon, Adelise and Edwin brought him home. They were leaving for Louisiana the next morning.

John took his bag to his room, then headed back downstairs to say goodbye to Adelise and Edwin. He was halfway down the staircase, when he heard angry voices drifting from the living room.

"He's accepted to the Air Force Academy, and you won't let him go? It's what he wants, Patrick. You can't deny him that, especially after what he's been through. He's a great kid, you should be proud of him; it's what he's always wanted."

"Did John tell you that?" Patrick asked, a slight sneer on his face.

Adelise felt a jolt of shock course through her at Patrick's expression. "Yes, John did tell me, but he wasn't the first person to tell me what he wanted. Gisella told me when he was seven how he wanted to fly airplanes. She knew then what would make John happy. She told me that she tried to tell you, but you wouldn't listen. You need to listen now, or you will lose John forever."

"I don't need you to interfere in how I raise my son. The matter is closed; he is not going to the Air Force Academy." Patrick's voice was angry, controlled, but angry.

"I suppose you're going to, again, refuse my father's request for John and Dave to visit him this summer? How many times has my father asked you to let the boys spend the summer with us, and you always had an excuse. You were taking them to Europe, or they had special summer classes. The truth is you're embarrassed by us. What is it, not wealthy enough for you, or is it a class thing? Why, we're just simple shrimpers and fishermen from the bayou, what can we provide your sons?" Adelise walked over to Patrick, and stood inches from his face. Edwin, took a step closer to both; he didn't trust that Sheppard's temper wasn't about to explode. Adelise's voice was low and tense when she continued.

"We can give them love, and fun, and family. I know you love your sons; Gisella never once doubted your love for her, or for John and Dave. We didn't understand why she loved you as much as she did. Yet, she did love you, and that was enough to satisfy us. We love these boys, her sons, and that should be enough for you." She paused as though to steel herself, "I am going to ask you once again, my father would like John and Dave to visit him this summer. I realize that Dave won't be able come because of school, but John would love to see his grandfather. I need an answer, now, Patrick."

"I can answer that; I'd love to visit my grandfather, for the entire summer if he'll have me. I can leave for the Academy from there."

The three adults turned to see John standing in the doorway, his face reflecting the determination in his voice. He approached his father.

"You can't control my life any longer. How could you deny Dave and me seeing our grandfather, and our mother's family? I didn't even know that I had a cousin named for my mother. I thought they didn't care about us, but it turns out, they care more than you do." He looked at his aunt who was watching him, tears in her eyes.

"I'm eighteen now, a legal adult, with money of my own from the trust fund your father left me on my eighteenth birthday. I don't need you." John looked at Adelise, "If you will have me, I would like to go home with you." When she nodded yes, he continued, "I'm going to pack. Don't try and stop me; you pushed me down this path, I'm going to take it." John left, running up the stairs.

Patrick Sheppard stood for a moment staring at Adelise, and then turned to leave the room. Before he walked out, he said one last thing, "This is a mistake, that boy needs control. You've just seen to it that he never accomplishes anything with his life."

An hour later, after a tearful goodbye to Miss Gilly, John Sheppard walked out of his father's home. He was headed to Louisiana.

* * *

Anton Jean Allain's rambling two-story home sat off of Montegut Road between Houma and Montegut, Louisiana. Across the road, moored in a commercial canal was the family's shrimp and fishing boats.

Nine weeks had passed since John Sheppard had arrived, walking into a world he had never experienced. He worked on the boats when they fished the Gulf of Mexico and when docked, doing maintenance that kept the boats running. He was tanned from hours in the sun, and had developed muscles over the muscles he had from playing sports. His off-hours had been spent with his cousins who had shown him the 'finer' points of the bayou. A weekend trip to New Orleans had introduced him to another facet of life. Arranged by his grandfather, the trip sent the younger Allain cousins to Bourbon Street with their older uncle, Don, Adelise's husband. He kept them from getting into too much trouble, but he also let them have a good time.

John had spent hours talking with his grandfather. He had committed every treasured word his grandfather had uttered to memory. Anton Allain was a laid-back spinner of tales, and was smarter than most men John had ever met. They had laughed and worked hard on the boats, standing side-by-side on the deck as Anton taught him to maneuver the nets. Lazy Sunday afternoons found them canoeing through the bayou, and some nights when Adelise had already gone to bed, Anton shared a bit of his bottle of scotch. They spoke little about his mother; the pain was still too great for both.

Too soon the summer ended, and the time for John to report to the Air Force Academy arrived. The day before he was to depart, his grandfather found him in the room he shared with his cousin, Tristen. He was sprawled on the window seat, gazing at the wetlands that stretched to the Gulf.

"Hey, John…uh…penny for your thoughts," Anton Allain sat down on Tristen's uncluttered bed.

John turned to look at his grandfather. At age sixty-eight, he was still spry, and could outlast most of the younger men working on the boats. He stood a shade over six feet tall, lean, and muscular, although his thick hair was white as beach sand. However, his grandfather's olivine eyes always captured his attention, the same olivine color as his mother's eyes, and his. He felt he was looking into her eyes once more.

"Sorry to be leaving, granddad. This has been the best summer I have had since…" John's eyes filled with tears, and he quickly looked away.

"Yeah, I know. John, uh...about that time when Gisella died; I know you had to wonder why I wasn't there. I was at sea; Adelise couldn't reach me in time for me to get to you, and Dave, and your father. I sometimes wonder if my not coming to your mother's funeral is why your dad has shunned me all these years. I doubt you know this, but I did come the next week. I went to her grave; it was the hardest thing I have ever done. I tried to see you boys, but your father refused."

John didn't look at grandfather, but he laughed bitterly. "Yeah, well…doesn't surprise me. He never allowed us to do anything that he didn't control from that point on."

"Listen, buddy, your dad loves you; I don't doubt that, and neither should you. Losing your mother destroyed him. I think Adelise is right; you look exactly like her, and he couldn't bear to look at you. I know after your grandmother died so many years ago, I had pain in my heart every time I looked at Adelise. She looked so much like her mother. Think that's fair? Nah…but life ain't fair, John.

I think all of us have failed to give you what you need. Dave could become his father's shadow but you, your light was gone. There was nothing for you to shadow. I know you have bitter feelings about your dad right now, but don't judge him too hard. Love doesn't always reveal itself to us; sometimes it just hides, waiting for us to flush it out." John nodded, and Anton decided he had said enough. There was something else he wanted to show his grandson.

"Come on buddy, we're going on a field trip."

They took the old white pickup that his grandfather had babied for thirty years, and headed toward Houma. After about an hour's drive they pulled into the parking lot of a wildlife reserve center. A ranger with the US Wildlife and Fisheries department came out of the center to meet them.

"Anton, good to see ya." He shook Anton's and as he shook John's, Anton introduced him.

"Harry Carmichael, this is my grandson, John Sheppard, from Maryland. He's spent the summer with me, and tomorrow he heads for the Air Force Academy."

"Good to meet ya, son." He looked at Anton, "Now, I understand why you wanted to see Randy; well, he's out back. Come on."

John followed the two older men into the center, and down a corridor leading to a rear door. An amphitheater constructed of stone and wood covered a large area behind the center. Standing on the stage was a tall, slender man holding a medium sized bird with a hood over its eyes.

"Anton, hello; this must be John. John, I'm Randy Pruett, and this is Cody, a peregrine falcon. Your granddad thought since you were attending the Air Force Academy, and the falcon is the mascot of the Academy, you might like to meet one, up close and personal."

They spent the next couple of hours learning about falcons, while Randy, a licensed Falconer, put Cody through his paces. He had John hold Cody for a while, and Harry took pictures of the afternoon's events.

It was mid-afternoon before they headed back to the house; John was pretty quiet on the way home.

"Listen, that bird you know, he's a lot like you, John."

"How so, granddad?"

"Well, he's strong, handsome," he laughed as John blushed, "stubborn, and dangerous. I think you can be dangerous, if you put your mind to it. When that bird is flying free, he doesn't have a care in the world. He just soars, and dives, and takes his prey. On the ground, in the control of that handler, that bird is confined, anxious, unsure. He wants to fly, and he doesn't want anyone to keep him from flying. Sometimes, somebody else is going to be in control, and he has to remember that, and so do you."

Anton could sense that John was getting uncomfortable with what he was saying, "You want to fly, John, and fly you should. I know this what you should be doing; you are like your mother, not your dad. You're a free spirit, and so was she. Your father is mistaken about what you need, but that doesn't make him a bad person. He needs to control the things around him the only way he knows how to control. When you enter the academy, and you enter the military, you'll find a lot of people who'll want to control you like your father. Keep the blinders on, John, and stay calm. You can let go when you fly."

John nodded. For the rest of the trip, they talked about the bayou and fishing. Tristen would be a senior in high school in the upcoming year, playing football, and they talked about football for a while. Closer to home, they began to speculate on what Adelise and Denise were going to prepare for dinner. They had promised John a big feast on his last night in the bayou.

The next morning was bright, and already hot and humid by 10:00 a.m. Tristen had insisted on taking John's bags to the car. He and John had grown close, and Tristen was upset that John was leaving. John was inside the house, saying goodbye to everyone when his grandfather called out to him. "Come on, John, your ride to the airport is here."

John looked at Adelise, "Ride, I thought granddad was taking me?" Adelise just smiled, motioning for John to go outside.

Stepping into the bright sunlight, John was shocked to see who was taking him to the airport. A large black car was parked in the driveway, the driver putting John's bags in the trunk. Standing with his grandfather was his father and Dave; he slowly walked over to stand by Anton.

Patrick Sheppard was dressed, not in a suit, but in a sports shirt and kakis; Dave was in jeans. He looked from his father to his brother, confusion on his face. Patrick gave him a somewhat embarrassed grin.

"John, I may not approve of you attending the Academy, but you're going off to college. You and I took Dave to Harvard, and now, we are taking you to the Academy. This is a big day, regardless of what I would have liked, and we are going to share it as a family."

"I…I…wasn't expecting you. I…uh…" John couldn't say anything else.

His grandfather smacked him on the back. "Well, son, you got a lot of things to tell them about… fishing and shrimping, and partying in New Orleans, not to mention, that falcon." His grandfather hugged him, "Next summer, I'll take you for a weekend in New Orleans myself. I doubt Don knew the really good places." He hugged John again, "Don't be sad, everyone's very proud of you. She would be proud of you."

John grinned, the same lop-sided grin as his grandfather, and turned to walk to the car. Dave fell in beside him, "Partying in New Orleans? What exactly did you do this summer?"

John glanced at his older brother, who had a bit of a jealous look on his face. "You missed out, Dave. You should come with me." He grinned broadly, and got in the car, with a final wave to his granddad. This had been the best summer of his life.

_The end._


End file.
